Noir
by hariboo-smirks
Summary: A vignette that transformed itself. AU one shots and drabbles. DV some team.
1. Noir

A/N:I was thinking about Noir films when it came to mind. Call it an experiment, it's also AU.

Noir

The cigarette smoke shines a dusty blue in the light that the sign that hanging over the bar provides. It is late and the only people out at this time are the people whose home and dreams are even darker than the streets.

She has always loved the bar, she remembers back when she was younger and her mother would let sit while she finished her set. She misses her mother's voice, mysterious and full of tears, husky and soulful. She doesn't sing like her mother, she doesn't sing at all, not anymore. He always tells her she has a good voice the few times she has let him hear it, but she shies the compliments away.

Samantha is on stage now. Her voice is sweet and melodic, still there's an undercurrent of hurt hidden in it too. With her golden hair and blue eyes many of the men call her "Angel". But she's an angel with scars. They're friends, they met through him.

She's waiting for him now. He's always late. Buried in old books that make his eyes water because of all the dust they gather. With his books he forgets there is a world outside his messy apartment. Forgets that there is a world where she lives, or not lives, depending on the day.

Downing her drink she wonders how long she'll have to wait tonight. Last time Jack had almost closed before he had shown up.

He doesn't like the bar, at least at night; during the day he comes by it all the time to sit and eat and talk to Jack or TC. He likes to talk and she loves his voice. He can talk forever and she likes listening to him in bed, his chest vibrates with each word and she knows he's alive. She knows she's alive with him.

Just as Sam finishes her song she hears the door open. It's raining outside and the raindrops shine blue on his skin. He looks otherworldly to her. He walks over to her and places his hand on her cheek- it's a move they've always done, forever, unending; she turns her head and kisses his wrist. She stands and he wraps his arm around her slim waist and kisses her. He tastes like cigarettes, coffee, scotch, and rain. After the kiss she licks her lips to taste him again and lets him take her home. It's almost sunrise, pre-dawn, and the streets blush blue.

She'll sleep all day, naked and wrapped in his crisp white sheets. She'll wake up at sunset. He'll be sitting at his desk writing his next paper or novella, there'll be a smudged glass of scotch, shining amber in the sunlight that flitters through the blinds, and mug of cold coffee next to him. She'll get up and change and then walk back to the bar to once again hear Samantha sing on the stage that she used to play on, but will never sing on. She'll sit and watch and drink and smoke. She'll sit and wait for him to take her home.


	2. Noir: Love

Noir: Love

He doesn't like to make love. Making love was something only reserved for his wife.

She knows about Sharen, of course, before they (she and him) had met, they (Sharen and him) would go to the bar to listen to TC play the sax.

After Sharen died he didn't stop by the bar for a long time until Samantha and TC dragged him back one night to listen to Samantha sing for the first time. TC had managed to get her a slot. That night he had sat and drank his bourbon while watching his friend sing. She had noticed him of course, it was hard not too, he was a beautiful man, but they didn't talk that night. They hadn't talked for a while, but oddly enough they always seem to sit next to each other at the bar. And every once in a while, he would pay for her drink when TC came over to talk to her.

The first night they kiss is also the first night they sleep together. Literally that's all they do. They lay in his bed fully clothed except for their shoes and he spoons against her back. They just sleep. It feels to natural and it scares her a little. She's never asked but she thinks it scared him too.

They have sex the first thing in the morning. It's slow and sweet; too slow and too sweet for perfect strangers.

After that night she spends every night with him. He doesn't ask questions, he just knows.

She drinks his coffee and tells him that her mother had the most beautiful voice in the world. He eats her toast and tells her he stopped writing when Sharen died, and only again started to after they met.

He doesn't like to call it making love, those are words only reserved for his dead wife, but when he is over her, consuming her and their fingers are intertwined above her head, she looks into his eyes and knows.


	3. Noir: Secrets

Noir: Secrets

Jack knows all her secrets. He should, considering how long he's known her. Sometimes she's scared that he'll tell them, but she also knows that is an empty feat. Jack is loyal and he'll never spill her secrets over a bottle of whiskey, not even to Samantha.

Many have thought that she and Jack were lovers. Given how close they are, she can't blame people. She always laughs those remarks away. Still, people gossip.

Once he had asked her about Jack. She hadn't been surprised; it had been bound to come up. They had been in bed together. It was midsummer and the city felt like it was melting. His air-conditioned had been broken, so they had just lain in bed naked, letting the summer night's wind drift through the open windows. It had been too hot for sex, but that hadn't stopped them, and after they had laid next to each other. Not even touching, yet still in faultless intimacy, letting the wind cool their flesh.

It had been then that he asked about Jack. A simple question, he probably had given a lot of thought, yet managed to convey it as casual. "Where did you and Jack meet?" He had been propped on one arm and his free hand had trailed a finger down her arm. She had turned to face him and dragged one nail down the middle of his chest. " At the bar, darling." He had kissed her and didn't ask anything else. Neither liked to ask too many questions about the others past.

He had asked the wrong question though. Her answer hadn't been a lie; she had met Jack at the bar, but the real question was when. That answer was more complicated she guesses, but then most of her life is complicated.

She had met Jack as a child. She had been heading to the bar after school to watch her mama practice. She had gotten there and had looked through the grimy windows to see a sight she had never seen before: her mama was crying and being held by Mr. O'Neill. He owned the bar. She had never seen a man, not even her daddy hug her mama in such a way. There was something special about it. Something secret. She had then heard a voice coming from behind. "You Mrs. Mal Duran's kid?" It had been a boy, a couple of years older than her, with brown hair and browner eyes. He had been holding a baseball bat against his shoulder. Jack. She had just nodded. "Okay good. Look kid, my dad told me that when you got here I should take you for a dog. So come on." She had just looked at him and then back through the window. He had looked with her, and then they had looked at each other. It was funny how a murky sheet of glass separated two worlds. "Don't worry, my dad will take care of your mom," he had said. This was Christopher O'Neill's son and she trusted his father. She had followed Jack to get a hot dog.

She and Jack never talked about what they had seen through the dusty window. They shared that secret, like the hug inside.

Years later after everything happened and she had needed blood, Jack had been the only one able to donate to her; even then they didn't talk about that day, they just understood some secrets better.

Yes that night telling him that she had met Jack at the bar hadn't been a lie, but the question he should have asked was "When?" Maybe he had understood that was too much; too complex. She wouldn't have minded answering it though, still the question she hopes nobody would ever think to ask is "why?"


	4. Noir: Different

Noir: Different

_"You'll learn my love for you is true,_

And I'm sure I'll learn the same from you

For our love is different."

"Our Love is Different", Billie Holiday

He comes home and puts the newspaper next to her. She is sitting cross-legged on the counter eating toast. She has music on. A soulful voice floats through the apartment. She is only wearing his shirt. She likes the way it smells, and sometimes it feels more comfortable than her own skin. She wears it a lot. She licks some excess jam from her fingers. He just watches her. His eyes burn her.

She then looks down at the paper and stills. He had known she would have. The front page is an article about her mother. They are honoring her. She trails a finger down the black and white jaw in the picture before she looks back at him. His eyes hold a question. He asks her if she's going to go. She says it's not her world anymore, but they both know it could be again. He kisses her. It's hot and desperate and demanding and possessive, tinged with something else that neither can attest to. She doesn't know who needs it more. They have sex/fuck/make-love on the table. After, he sits, naked, on a chair next to the table; his head is resting next to her thigh. After, she lays limp on the table, still only wearing his shirt, she lets her fingers comb through his hair.

The music still filters through the apartment. The voice is sensual and soulful. She has never really let him hear her sing, but today she lends her voice to the last part of the song that is covering them like a blanket.

----

A/N: Very nervous about this one. Just in case it isn't obvious- what Vala sings are the lyrics at the beginning. I was really nervous about the whole thing, because for me in the AU it's all about the thing they don't say, but feel and know. So having Vala sing the last piece was me sort of cheating, giving her affirmation of love a condition—it's just a lyric in a song, nothing more…. Except it isn't. So, okay, yeah… moment of self-justification over. I hoped you like!


	5. Noir: Healing

Noir: Healing

He likes to kiss and lick her scar. It's almost as if he's trying to erase it. It's not a big scar, or even an angry one, and nobody would ever really notice it at first glance, but he knows ever inch of her body. It extends down her neck reaching just past the hollow between her clavicles. It's small and well done, almost invisible. She is thankful that at the time she had been able to hire the best.

Whenever he kisses her, he always makes his way to that spot. He says his tongue fits perfectly into the groove made by her collarbones. She agrees.

Its not the only scar she has, there's another small scar on her hip from when she fell on her bicycle when she was little. He likes to try to erase that scar too, but he never spends as much time as he does on the one on her neck. Probably because he knows that's the one she wants erased as well. She's never told him how she got it so she doesn't know how he know what it means to her, but she doesn't really care because its only with him and his kisses that she feels healed.


	6. Noir:Unending

Noir: Unending

Their lives are not exciting. The world will probably not remember them, but that doesn't scare her. Sometimes being remembered is not all that its cracked up to is. The only thing she hopes never happens is that he has reason to forget her. It's funny how much she wants to be remembered by him.

They lead simple lives. He writes his stories and papers and they're all pretty well received. His publisher is always calling him, pushing for more. He complies. He writes about everything, from politics to nature to history, he writes stories about love, loss, grief, friendship, death and hope. She loves his stories. Her favorites ones, though, are the ones he never evens send to his publishers. Stories about ancient worlds, evil gods, the fight for hope, women and men that fall from the stars, princess and thieves and pirates, warriors of light and good that hold sadness in their hearts along with belief and hope. Worlds that she can only dream about. But she's the only one that reads those, they overrun his desk and she sneaks them.

When she asks him why he doesn't ever send them in he looks at them almost as if he's seeing them for the first time. He then tells her that she's the only he trust with his dreams. She doesn't quite get it but she does; in her heart, in her soul she knows what he means. She clutches them to her chest and kisses him. He now tells her the stories in bed before he puts them on paper and sometimes he adds little things she says. It's their stories now.

He knows that she's afraid he'll forget her, and one day when his sitting and writing while she's in the tub he comes to her and gives her a sheet of paper. It's a dedication, to her "To her, who in all my lives and my dreams her star manages to shine the brightest of them all." She looks at him with tears in her eyes. He smiles and tells her he's going to start on dinner.

She's not scared of begin forgotten anymore, because now she knows in all their lives they'll find each other.


	7. Noir: Future

Noir: Future

The future is an in tangible thing. It is a mystery to come. They don't bother too much with it.

She had long ago left the future in the past. He was the same way. Maybe that's why they worked; to often the future's they had planned had been taken from them, ripped like pages from a book, leaving them with the remains.

They had prided themselves in living in the now and letting events come to them as they pleased. They never made plans further than two or three days in advanced. Life was to be lived now, something they had learned the hard way. But they had been happy. She should have known it wouldn't last. Now everything was folding in on itself. The world was spinning and crashing around her. Six weeks.

She hears him enter the apartment. Samantha had called him. She hears as he rushed past their friend and enters the room. She is on the floor by the foot of their bed. She can't even remember when it stopped being his and became theirs.

She looks at him. She is broken. It's been a long time she has felt this broken. She meets his eyes. She can see he is breaking too. He says nothing as he moves to embrace her, he warps her up in his arms and his warmth covers her. She clings to him; he is the only thing that is keeping the world from falling on her. She cries deep, wet sobs into his neck. In all their time together he has barely seen her cry but now her tears are rivers down his neck. She can feel matching ones on her own neck. In all their time together she has never seen him cry. But today he cries with her. Six week. Six weeks.

Her world been different for six weeks and she had never even known. She had cooked and kissed and laughed. She had smoked and drank and forgotten to eat. She… this was her fault.

Wrenching herself from him, she tries to get away. How can he even hold her? But she forgets that he knows her, and he holds on to her. He does not let go and she falls back into him. She stays there, sheltered in his embrace, for what seems like ages. The sun has set and they are left in the dark. Only the streetlights and their hall light illuminate their world. She moves to look at him. His eyes are moist and bright, they probably match her own.

They had prided themselves on not worrying about the future, but like many things in their lives it had snuck up on them and left them, and they had barely known. In all their time together they had prided themselves in what they didn't need to tell each other. They had prided themselves in what they had instinctively gleaned from sight, touch and their innate understanding of the other. They had prided themselves in not saying the things that could change their lives. But now it was different. The future had come and gone and she needs him to know.

She places a hand on his cheek and looks into his cerulean eyes.

"I…I l--"

"I know." He interrupts her and brushes hair from her face. His eyes are clear and his hand is warm; she understands. He does know. She both loves and hates the inner relief she feels. She can see what he is about to say. As his lips begin to move she gently lays a finger on them.

"I know." And she does. She knows because in this moment it fills everything, from the look in his eyes to his hand that caresses her cheek. She knows.

She moves to place, quite possibly the chastest kiss they've ever shared on his lips. A mere touching of her lips to his. After he pulls her back into him, his lips brush her forehead; again she wraps herself around him. Her head rest on the crook of his neck as his arms hold her tightly to him.

For them the present is shattered, so they cling to their future.


	8. Noir: Backwards

Noir: Backwards

After it happens she thinks they should be different.

She thinks that they should argue more, but in fact they argue less. She thinks that they should hate to touch each other, but instead they touch more. She needs to know that he is still with her and he needs to know he didn't lose her too.

She thinks that the sex should be different somehow. Careful. Less. Tentative. Cautious. That they should be more afraid of what it could bring, but they crave each other more, they now have the hope of what it could bring.

She thinks they should talk less too; they talk more. They still keep away from the subjects that tend to cause too much pain; they also understood those better without words anyway. But now he tells her about how when he was little he wanted to live in the desert with his grandfather, she tells him about how she used to jump of swing sets in mid-swing because she always wanted to fly.

But they are different in other ways. Now he sometimes forgets to pick her up at the bar and she spends the night at her old room at Jack's before she heads back to their apartment in the morning, to catch him for breakfast. He doesn't forget to pick her up that night or the following ones, until he does.

She lets him hear she sings less too. She use to sing in the shower, sometimes hum while making dinner, now she only sings late at night when she can pretend he's asleep. She stops smoking and he stops writing. He doesn't tell her as many stories and she doesn't ask to read them anymore.

They still have that inexplicable intimacy, which two people that barely knew each other that first night should never have had, but they now they try to shy away from it. They hate to admit how scared they are of it now. They knew the other too well, but were still strangers in many ways.

They are learning each other all over again. Well, at least pretending to.

They did it all backwards.

She thinks that after it happens they should be different, and in some ways they are, she just doesn't know if that's good or bad.


	9. Noir: Quiet

Noir: Quiet

It was one of those rare quiet nights at the bar. No agitated businessmen or university students, no couples out on first dates or celebrating anniversaries. It was just friends, the regulars you call them. The ones that the 'Closed' sign doesn't apply too.

Rodney was playing the piano; TC accompanied him on the sax, while Teyla sang one of her songs. An almost operatic voice that struck the hearts of all that listened. She loves to hear the girl sing, so dose everybody else.

Smiling she lets her eyes drift over to where Evan, Ronon and Cameron are losing to Radek at pool. She should have warned them about the smaller man, but it just too much fun to see them that stunned.

Across from them Carson and Janet are appeasing Carolyn about her upcoming med-school exams, though from the fact that the young woman's eyes keep on glancing to Cameron and the boys, she doesn't think that she's listening to much. Apparently Carson and Janet notice it too, and Carson leads Janet to the dance for to join the other couples.

On the dance floor John is dancing with Elizabeth and Jack with Samantha. They don't seem to be dancing in any particular way. Jack twirls Samantha to TC's sax, while John lead Elizabeth in a waltz to Rodney's piano, then the tempo changes and they spin their respective partners causing them to bump into each other. Both women laugh and roll their eyes, before they put a bit more space between the men. No need for more accidents.

She lets out a laugh. It feels good to be in this moment. She then feels a pair of arms warp around her, his hands rest on her stomach. He tends to that a lot more now. She thinks it should bother her, but it doesn't, she likes having his extra weight there. A promise. They don't talk about it though. Intertwining their fingers, she lets her head drop to his shoulder and inhales his scent- he's been writing, she can smell the ink and paper on his skin; it smells like home. He presses a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder and nods to the floor. She smiles, he's asking if she want to dance, she loves too, him-- not so much, but tonight she shakes her head.

She's just happy being in this moment with him.


	10. Noir: Anniversaries

Noir: Anniversaries

_June 5__th_

She always gets there at eleven thirty. She stands in front of the stone and reads the words over and over again. Mother. Friend. Wife. Gifted. Loved. She reads the words until her eyesight stops blurring and then she places the flowers down. Sunflowers. Her favorites.

At twelve he gets there. Jack walks up to her and places his hand on her shoulder, they don't talk, they never do, not here, not yet. He stands next to her for a few minutes, and puts down a single flower. Iris. She looks over her shoulder at her friend and silently they walk over to another stone about a hundred feet away.

She has always felt it was wrong for them to be so apart.

At the second stone everything is different. The grass isn't as cared for, the stone is not as ornate and polished, and the words are all different. Father. Loyal. Solider. Missed. All the words are different except two.

_June 5__th_

Not even the year is the same. It's the same day three years apart.

She still remembers the day Christopher O'Neill died. More accurately she remembers the day she had _learned_ Christopher O'Neill had died.

Her mama had just come back from an overseas tour and the first thing she had asked her was if she wanted to go to the bar. She had said yes right away, her own eyes sparkling much like her mama's. She loved the bar. It felt like home, and only being nine she was not allowed to go without her mama's permission. Her mama had told her to go change and she would call Mr. O'Neill to tell him they were coming. She had dashed out of the room. She hadn't even made it to her room when she heard the crash. Rushing back to her mama's room, she had gone in to find her mama on her knees clutching her chest.

She had called out and her mama had looked up. Tears were falling like rivers from her eyes and without a second thought she had moved across the room to hug her mama.

A few days later they had gone to the cemetery. Jack had been there. All of a sudden the five years between them felt like a lifetime.

He had talked to her mama while she traced the words: Christopher O'Neill. Father. Missed. She had felt so bad for Jack and when he had gone to leave she had moved to hug him for the first time in all the time they had known each other. Her mama had started to cry again. Jack had hugged back and left.

She wouldn't see him for three years. Her mama's funeral.

Everybody said how it was such a shame, overdosing on sleeping pills- what a horrible way to go. But she had known the secret truth. Her mama had been dead for years, her body just finally caught up with her heart.

She was twelve and had stayed behind. She had yelled at her daddy to leave her alone and go to his stupid Adria. He had.

She had stayed at her mama's stone for a few minutes before she ran to the other one.

There she found Jack. At seventeen he looked the same but different. Taller, more of a man, but his eyes were still brown and his hair still did that funny thing. For the second time in her life she hugged him.

"You okay, kiddo?" He still called her kiddo. She cried.

He nodded and hugged her back. They stood there in shared grief until he broke the silence.

"I joined the Air Force."

She had looked up in shock.

"I'm leaving in the next couple of days, but I wanted you to know that if you ever needed anything you can count on me. Remember Mr. B's garage near the bar?"

She had nodded.

"If you ever need anything go over there and ask for TC. I stayed with them after Pop's died. He'll know how to get in touch with me. Okay, kiddo?"

Nodding again she brushed the tears from her eyes. After Jack had walked her home.

She began going to the garage, a lot, and sent Jack letters full of the stupid things in her life. She became friends with TC and would sing along with his sax. She would hide out there when being home with Adria got to be too hard.

Still, she didn't see Jack for six years. When he returned she would sneak out and hang out with him and TC. He would give TC a hard time for teaching her to drink and smoke and she would scoff and tell him that TC taught her nothing she didn't already know. It felt like she had a home again.

Then came the night where it all change. Two years after Jack came back, on the day of her mama's death. She had called him in the middle of the night, broken in more ways than one. She would have died if he hadn't come for her. She remembers that TC had to break down the door. She remembers the yelling. She remembers the pain.

_June 5__th_

Now she looks over at Jack. He remembers too. After that night she never went back to her parents house. She convinced Jack to open the bar again, and they started over again.

Now they speak.

"I miss them."

"Me too."


	11. Noir: Rain

A/N: I am soo cheating! blushes Anybody who reads this and thinks "Dude, why is this so familiar? Have I read this before?" The answer is yes, you have. I pretty much bastardized and tweaked my "Rain" ficlet for it to fit in the Noir verse. I had planned this pretty much from when I first finished "Rain" the first time and saw that a lot of it had similar themes that I put in Noir and well… yep, I still hope you enjoy.

* * *

Noir: Rain

"I'm leaving!" Slam.

She storms out of the house. Sometimes she can't even believe him. He was the most stubborn man in the city. In the world. Why couldn't he just admit it?

Ignoring the falling rain she makes her way down the grey and wet street, the streetlights the only thing lighting her way in the dark of the night. Fuck it. She was going to the bar or to Jack's, he could bitch about her leaving later. She couldn't even stand being in the same apartment as him. Stupid, stubborn, annoying man. All he had to do was open his mouth and just stop fighting her.

Gods, sometimes, especially times like these, she wondered how they managed to stay together for as long as they have. They fought almost constantly. They had next to nothing in common. He was all about books, his writings and ideals. She was old albums, songs she wouldn't sing and the bar. They were complete opposites. He had been right. They had been stupid to even try this. She wiped her face, not even knowing if she was wiping tears or raindrops.

She is almost to the corner when she feels a pair of hands grip her arms and turn her around.

It's him.

Moving to meet his eyes she can see, that even in the darkness of the storm, his eyes hold an equal, if not greater darkness. She shivers. This is one of those rare times when allows himself to let out his darker, baser instincts. Rage. Possession. Passion. And right now they are all aimed at her. It should scared her, to see his eyes glinting dangerously in the rain. Electric lighting in blue orbs. But it has quite the opposite effect. She can feel her blood and body start to hum in response.

She is about to reply to his actions when his lips slam ruthlessly on hers. His lips are possessive and violent, slanting over hers like he wants to consume her. He is going to eat her alive and she can't do anything to stop it. Hell, she wants it. Gods, how she wants it. She tries to respond, to gain some- any- ground in the kiss, but he doesn't allow it. She feels her body slam into one of the streetlights as his body slams into hers, he isn't going to let her go anytime soon. She has not choice but to ride out the storm that he brings. She can taste the rain that falls from him to her, and even that hold a powerful edge of danger and passion. She wants more.

Finally, when breath becomes an issue he separates them with the same force that he pulled her in with. His hands still hold onto her arms and his eyes still match the sky.

She opens her mouth to say something, but again he stops her. This time he uses words.

"You're not leaving."

Suddenly, she feels a rising sense of heartache and guilt remembering her words. Words she had said in anger, too wrapped up in the moment to give them any thought. Still, she should have known better. She knew how he felt about those particular words, she knew because she felt the same way. For them, there was no greater ways to cause hurt. Him leaving her, or her leaving him was the other's greatest fear. It stopped their hearts and shattered their souls. The mere idea was unfathomable. A blasphemy. And she hated herself for making him that she was _leaving_ him. _Leaving them_.

Nodding, she silently understands what is being left unsaid. _Don't leave me_.

Slowly, she tries to move from his grasp. If he doesn't want her to move, he won't let her, but she has to reassure him. She isn't going anywhere.

He loosens his grip, but doesn't let her go. And that's okay, because she really doesn't want him too. Stepping closer to him she brings her hands up, cupping his jaw as she tilts his face towards her.

Her kiss is different. Possessive and demanding, but leisurely deliberate. This is going to last forever. He needs to know.

He responds in kind, and she can feel the slight quelling of the storm that had been raging inside him. Matching the intense slowness of the kiss his hands slide down her arms and drift to her waist. When he lifts her, she automatically wraps her legs around his waist as he leads them back to the apartment.

Inside they stumble into the wall and are momentarily separated. His lips begin bruising their way to her neck where he bites her. Hard. She cries out as she arches against him. She can feel the skin breaking and knows he is marking her. She is his now. She had been before, but now he knows it too. The proof will last on her skin.

After, he returns to her lips where he allows her to taste the blood, her blood, on his lips. The sensation pushes her senses into overdrive and she bites into his lip equally hard. Their blood mixes together, its dark taste joining with the rawness of their love. And she knows that they will never be able to truly leave each other. They hold one another in the deepest parts of their souls.

Outside, the rain still falls and lighting cuts the sky.


	12. Noir: Interlude

Be ready for the angst. Beware also for some naughty language. This is probably the longest Noir, because again we delve into the past, things get rough and some questions are answered.

Noir: Interlude

_**Jack **_

Ever since that day in the bar when he was six, Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill had one job in his life:

Take care of her.

He still remembers the first time he met her. She doesn't remember, of course, but it was long before that day in front of the bar.

Mrs. Mal Duran had brought her new baby to the bar and his Pop had called him down to meet her. He didn't know why, he didn't care about babies. But there she was. She had been the smallest thing he had ever seen. All wide sparkling eyes, dark curls, and the biggest smile he had ever seen on anyone body. He had wondered how her face could fit her smile.

Vala.

He had loved her from the beginning. His Pop didn't even have to tell him, and really he wouldn't have understood it at the time. But there was just something about this baby that made him feel, well, a lot of things. Love. Pride. Protectiveness. All too big for his six year old body to really understand, but he embraced them all. He had liked it. It was special.

That afternoon his Pop had told him, "Jack, sit with the baby and watch over her while we practice." So he had, they had sat in front of the stage and watched their parents. Even back then she would hum and babble in tune to her mother's voice.

He didn't really see her after that, but he never forgot what his Pops had told him.

"_Watch over her." _

Years later he would see her again. Pigtails and a dirty pink backpack looking through the dusty windows of the bar. She has been looking at their parents, hidden inside their sanctuary. They never talked about what they had seen through the window, but it had bonded them in a special way. A secret only they shared. She had followed him to get a hot dog that day. Before she had gotten there his Pop had told him, "Jack? Vala, you remember her?" He had nodded. "Good, well, she's going to be coming over to see her mom practice today, but…" His Pop had sighed, deep and troubled. "It's not a good time. I need you to take care of her, take her to her a hot dog or the park." So he had, and she had followed him. She had listen to him talk about baseball and he found out she was pretty decent pitcher – for a seven year old.

When her mom come and picked her up from the park, eyes still pink and slightly swollen, she had smiled and waved bye to him.

"Bye bye, Jack. I'll see you soon. Promise."

And she had. Her mom began brining round more often, and she would follow him around when she wasn't singing along with her mom. At seven, she soon became one of the best pitchers in the neighborhood, and had one of the best voices too. When she would sing along with her mom and he could see a smile in his Pop's eyes.

Then everything started to change. Her mom got famous and toured more and more. Vala came round less and less, but when she did she was full of stories and smiles. Once she came crying over some bully, later the kid that caused those tears was found nursing a black eye. Jack swears to this day that he doesn't know anything about that.

Then came June 5th.

His dad died and he remembers how that day in the cemetery she had hugged him like a little sister. He had almost cried. Mrs. Mal Duran had told him to call whenever. He never did.

Three years later, he heard of another funeral. He was heading to the Air Force in a week, but he needed to make sure she was okay. His father had told him so:

"_Jack, watch out for Vala. She needs someone to watch out for her." _

A day later his Pop died.

Mrs. Mal Duran's funeral was everything his Pop's hadn't been, and everything he had expected. Big, elaborate, full of people, press, and a twelve-year-old crying salty rivers onto her black sundress. After they lowered Mrs. Mal Duran to the ground, he headed towards his Pop's grave. He waited there until she showed up, like he had known she would. She had cried broken sobs into his white shirt, then he had made sure she had gotten home okay. And he left.

The Air Force Academy had been okay. He loved to fly, the fighting he didn't love as much. He would get letters full of the random happenings in her life. There was one letter about TC scaring her prom date that made him laugh. Good. There were envelopes full of pictures she would make TC take. The fair, the park, Mr. B's new dog, her in a pretty blue dress next to TC and Cameron (her prom date_, but not boyfriend cuz he's totally making eyes at Amy Whatever-he's too good for her anyway, and I can kick his ass in pool, and who wants a boyfriends who always ends up losing his pants_—her words not his). He also got letters from TC telling him that she was doing okay. The stepmother apparently made her cry a lot, but then she would just spend most of her time at the garage, and be better. To Jack, that was all that mattered. She was okay.

When he went back she was still growing into herself, and Jack could see her mom in her. But she was also sadder. Oh, she hid it well, behind her smiles and jokes, but he knew it was an act. He was the same way. Life at home was getting rougher, Adria did not like her stepdaughter's emerging beauty and talent, so similar to her mother's. Words were yelled to cause hurt, things were thrown and tears would spill. She would just sneak out more. She would come in the middle of the night to hang out with him and TC. He didn't fight her, because she seemed happy, singing along to TC's sax and playing pool on the old table Mr. B had. At least she was where he could watch over her. She kept on urging him to open the bar again, so she could sing on her mama's old stage. He would sip his beer and tell her he'd think about it. She would high five TC and announce she was wearing him down.

And then June 5th came around. It was always a bad day. She wouldn't come round, locked in her room, listening to her mama's old records. He wasn't any different, getting drunk, and maybe laid if he felt like it. TC would cover his shift at the garage.

But that night was different. It was around ten when they got the call. Her voice sounded broken, almost as if she was choking on something.

"Ja'k, h'lp."

He had never sobered up faster in his life.

Her house was big and fancy. He had never liked it. When him and TC got there, they had pounded at the door. Her bitch stepmother had yelled and told them she would call the cops and they could hear her father cursing inside.

"Open the fucking door!" There was hate in his voice.

With one look at each other, TC broke the door down with his large linebacker body and they had rushed inside. They had ignored Adria's yells and ran upstairs.

Her father was pounding on her door, his hands stained in what looked to be blood, holding crumpled papers.

"Open the door! You knew didn't you?! You knew… you fucking knew! You little bitch!"

He and TC didn't waste any time in getting the man way from the door.

"Ha! It's you! I should have known! Like mother, like daughter!" Her father had tried to hit him, but TC held the man back in his strong grip. Jack had ignored the man and kicked his way into the room, she had put a chair in front of the door.

Inside, she laid facedown by the phone. Blood spilled from her mouth, a dark red vomit, and she seemed to be holding her neck. Rushing towards her, he picked her up and took her almost unconscious body out of that house. Neither Adria nor her father followed them.

He had never seen so much blood in one place, and it just kept falling from her lips.

§

The doctors had said her windpipe had been almost crushed and her vocal chords had been severely damaged, they had said it had been what looked to be several kicks to her stomach and ribs that had caused the punctured lung. They could fix it, but it would cost money. A lot. And he didn't have it. But she did. Her mother's inheritance gave her, her life back. Her voice back. But she had hated her voice afterwards, even after all the therapy. A new huskier, whiskey-laced tone. She hated to sing now. To talk.

But he had tried, to get her to sing, to smile, but she just couldn't- wouldn't. He hated it, but understood.

They reopened the bar; she had given him the remainder of her mom's inheritance to help him out. It had been slow at first, but the bar had a reputation from the old days and it didn't take long for business to pick up. She had always loved the bar, and so he put half of it in her name. She had smiled that day.

She began healing, little by little. Day by day.

The bar was theirs now, just like it had been their parent's bar. She was happier, but still didn't smile as much and her glow was still gone, doused by her tears. He wished he could do more to help. He had promised his Pop that he would take care of her, but felt like he was failing.

Days passed slowly, but the rush of the city never seemed to reach them- the bar was their bubble. She would smile a little more everyday, but her eyes still didn't sparkle like before. Sometimes he wished he had killed her father that night.

Then he came.

Daniel.

He had been married at first, and they had paid little attention to each other. Then Sharen died and still, they stayed away from each other. Polite smiles, and nods of acknowledgements. But then it changed. It happened slowly like dripping molasses, and Jack didn't even think they noticed until it was too late.

They had just kept drifting closer and closer to each other. Sitting closer to each other on the bar. Talking more and more, mostly thanks to TC and Sam, but Jack's pretty sure they would have gotten there eventually. Then later, they would lean towards each other, whispering and smiling. His hand would brush her bangs away, and she would push his glasses up his nose. He would roll his eyes, she would smirk playfully. People had thought they were married long before they had spent a night together. Jack made sure they never heard those comments. They had been too fragile together. The first night that Daniel made her smile, wide and bright—like before, was the same night Jack decided not to scared the boy away.

He made her happy, and that made Jack happy. She deserved it, and Jack promised himself he would help her protect that happiness.

It was his job after all.


	13. Noir: Stay

Noir: Stay

It's been months since that night when their present fell apart and shattered like a crystal cup full of scotch, spilling all their fears around them like blood.

They had seen the future in that night, and it scared them as much as they began to long for it. But they began to creep around each other anyway. Too much. Too little. Everything in extremes.

It's been weeks since the fight. That night in the rain when they finally let go and let themselves be consumed. By the fear they held. By the hope they longed for. By the love they could not hide.

They had never really fought before. Not the way they had that night. But in those few weeks before the fight they had begun pushing at each other. First it had been little things. They had forgotten how little things grew. They had both been trying to distance themselves from each other, while at the same time reaching for the solace they could only find in the others embrace. Their actions contrary, but their feelings the same. Love and fear. Fear and love. Together. Apart. All culminating in a wet night of truths, fears, passion and love. A dark night that had freed them from their fears.

It's been days. Days since they left the city. Both needed to get out. Get away. They had needed to be with each other and just each other. No nights full of sirens and people talking while saying nothing. No dark alleys where lives ended just as quickly as they began. No memories of shattered dreams. Just them and the beach house. Leisurely days full of sand and salt air, of making love on the porch, the beach and bed. Days of the laughter and smiles that the city tended to swallow up in its cracks.

They really owed Jack for the escape he allowed them. The escape they had needed.

But now they are back and both are scared. Both fear what coming back will bring. Would the pain, the anger and sadness return? As she steps out of the car, she looks at the building. It looms over her, terracotta bricks that hold her happiest moments along with some of her saddest.

Just like them, she thinks sadly. They had given the other hope and sometimes left bruises in their wake. But bruises heal. She knows they do.

She follows him upstairs, trailing her fingers up the walls. They had sex here once. In the stairwell. Back in the early days, when it had all been simple, easy and complex at the same time. Inside the apartment she hangs back near the door, she watches as he hangs his jacket and turns to look at her. Behind him the apartment seems dark and intimidating. Tears and words shouted in anger hang in the air behind him.

Meeting his eyes as they call to her, she steps closer to him. She sighs and smiles softly. He cups her cheek and kisses her lightly. Lovingly. A brush of his lips against hers, and their noses bump. She steps closer still, and holds him as he holds her.

They are a crisp breeze in the stagnant air of the apartment.

She remembers that love and hope live here too.

Their foreheads rest together, and they smile. Their smiles match.


	14. Noir: Touch

Noir: Touch

The night is young and his body is slick with sweat, her hands read his back like a favored love song. It's been a while since they been together this way. For a long time the need for each other came out of desperation. The need to feel each other. To drown in each other. To know that they still had a connection. Always desperate, always need, always lust. Their bodies focused on the actions instead of the meaning. But now it is like it was before, and new all at once. Familiar and extraordinary. Dichotomy resolved and harmonized. They now accept what they had overlooked before.

The night and streetlights bathe them in blue and yellow light. Her skin looks ethereal, but is solid to his touch. It feels like a dream, but is real. She loves that it is real. Dreams fade into the night, but he'll be here long after the sun rises.

His lips exhale a breath for hers to take in. His hands run up her legs, torso, and arms. His hands are warm, molding and mapping her body like a blind man memorizing, like a sculptor creating a masterpiece. He is Pygmalion sculpting his Galatea. One hand drifts down her arm and takes her hand; lacing their fingers together he brings their hands to his lips before they are moved over by her head.

Blue eyes are clear and locked on to hers. They take her in. She takes him in. His other hand skims her throat with his fingers, he bends to place a gentle and sucking kiss, then moves his arm to hold him up. His body shifts. Her hand grips onto him as her back arches into him and her lips gasp against his.

A hand moves to clench in white sheets. A leg rises to hook around a thigh, toes curl into skin. Hipbone meets hipbone. Ribs are ladder rungs, which a hand climbs and caresses. Two hands are clasped so tightly together that they look to be one. Nails make half moon marks. Sheets crumple and pool on the floor. Skin slides together. Blue and grey never leave each other and the room grows thick as if there is a sweet and musky blue smoke that covers every inch of air.

Lighting flows in their veins, and a spark ignites.

Black in blue and grey dilate. Gasping into each other's mouth, everything explodes. And it lasts and lasts and lasts.

When the night begins to be ebb, his lips press against her pulse point breathing in time to her heartbeat. Their intertwined hands hold residence above her heart. She wants to paint him on her body. Always with her. He holds her to him. In this bed of rumpled white she feels life begin again. Dawn breaks. Birds begin to sing. She feels so full she thinks she might break again and again.


	15. Noir: White

Noir: White 

She used to love weddings. Brides in white dresses with flowers in their hair. Flowers filling every inch of space with their sweet aroma. Candlelight twinkling against crystal glasses and chandeliers. Orchestras serenading the bride and groom. Love permeating the air.

As a child all the weddings she had ever gone to her mother would sing. A soulful voice blessing new couple.

She had loved weddings, until she was thirteen. That was the year her father had married Adria. It was the first wedding that her mother wouldn't sing at. A wedding without love, only lust and greed and all the other sins.

She would hate weddings after that.

She can't hate John and Elizabeth's wedding, no matter how much she wants too. But honestly, deep in her heart, she's glad she doesn't hate it, it's nice to feel some of that bliss back.

They marry in a church by the pier. The reception is thrown nearby, next to the Ferris wheel – John has a thing for them, and soft salty air blows through her hair. Teyla, the maid of honor, sings and Rodney, the best man, plays the piano for the newlyweds.

No. She can't hate this wedding, but she almost didn't come. Too many people who had known her before. It's not Elizabeth's fault that their parents had run in similar circles, and Elizabeth still talks to hers. No, it's not Elizabeth's fault, but she still had wanted to shy away from the nuptials. He's the one that convinces her to go.

He wraps his arms around he and holds her to his chest. He is her protector in this sea of judging, gossiping eyes. He drops kisses on the skin at the back of her neck, soothing her. His eyes, always blue and true with her, turn to ice cold steel at any that dare make comments. She thinks she sees Adria drifting in the corner for a second. She tenses. She wants to crawl into him and stay there, safe and loved. With out the need for words his arms tighten around her waist and his hand falls protectively to her stomach. She sighs into him. He won't let her go – her life raft. His lips skim her bare shoulder, trailing his way to her ear. He whispers if she wants to go make out under the pier.

She laughs. It feels good. Her body feels light and freed from the strain of the eyes around them. When they come back her hair is a mess and his tie is undone. They get looks. She doesn't care. With him, she feels unbound. Her burden released.

When they come back Carolyn, Cassandra, and Teyla are among the many girls waiting for the bouquet. She doesn't go, just tucks her head into his shoulder and smiles. She doesn't need a bouquet. She knows where her future is.


	16. Noir: Coffee

Noir: Coffee

He loves coffee. Adores coffee. Worships coffee.

She enjoys it, but prefers tea. Jack says it's the Brit in her, but ironically enough she makes better coffee than all their friends. He says it how he knew she was the one. She laughs, and tells him he's lucky the sex is good.

They are sitting together in bed one morning. He's sipping his coffee and she's resting her head on his lap as he strokes her hair; she's been tired. He moves to put the coffee down on the night table, and the bitter and strong aroma drifts into her nose. She loves the smell and taste of coffee; it usually lingers on his skin and lips. But today the smell upturns her stomach. She barely makes it to the bathroom.

When she's done he's right next her, holding her hair. She can see the worry in his eyes. She takes the glass he offers, takes a drink, spits it out, takes another drink, spit it back out and takes another. Brushing her hair out her face, he asks if she's okay. She half nods – that hadn't been fun. He moves to kiss her softly. She covers her mouth and he smiles, but she can tell he's still worried. She rarely gets sick. She can count the amount of times she's been to the hospital and stay in single digits (she hates hospitals). The last time her body had felt this out of tune it had been then, the day when…

Her eyes widen in shock and amazement.

Now he looks at her even more worried than before, and she can't help but laugh. Confusion creeps in, but she can't answer the question in his face. She's speechless. He asks her what's wrong. But everything is right. And it really is. Last time her body had feel wrong, odd, but now everything feels right. Except for the nausea.

She grabs his hand and kisses it before she places it on her stomach. A promise kept. Blue eyes go from confused and questioning to bright and overjoyed. He laughs with her and moves to kiss her again, and she tires to cover her mouth again, but he stops her and kisses full on the mouth. She's too happy to care, and apparently so is he.

He tastes like coffee. She moves towards the toilet again. He gently brushes her hair away from her face, and holds her hand through it all.


	17. Noir: World

Noir: World

She wishes she could say she knew he was the one for her from the first moment she laid her eyes on him.

She wishes she could say it was love at first sight. That they fell into each other arms in a whirlwind of drunken passion.

It would be easier to say all of that, but it would be lies.

The first time she saw him it had been a busy night at the bar. He had been with Sharen. They had been watching TC play the sax. He had ordered a beer. She had ordered a gin and tonic. She had had a great smile, soft and warm. His eyes had been young and clear. She had smiled at them both and had given them drinks on the house with a wink.

Later, when she had heard about Sharen, she had cried, she hadn't understood why she grieved the woman like she had.

And it wasn't love at first sight. He hadn't come back to the bar for a long time, his own grief devouring him.

When he had started coming back to the bar again, they had been nothing. Barely friends. Friends of friends. He always sat at the bar, instead of a table; ordered a beer on easy days, bourbon on hard days, and had a small polite smile for her. She made sure to give him a smile back. One of her real ones, not the fakes ones she painted on her mask. Then one night he asked her how she knew TC and they never stopped talking. It would be many nights later before he kissed her.

They had been walking out after one TC's sets, the bar's blue sign flickering, and he had been helping her with her coat. He had been making sure her coat was fastened when their head's tilted towards each other, simple, easy and almost an afterthought. His hand had cupped her chin and he had kissed under the bar's blue sign. She slept in his bed that night. She hadn't known it then, but it would be their bed from then on.

It hadn't been drunken passion either. That night they had just slept. And the next morning, it had been sleepy and languid when they had sex, but also deliciously sober. Waking dreams.

Their story isn't the type that to be immortalized by poets. It isn't the type people write love songs about. Their story is messy and sad. But it's theirs.

He likes to tell it and others to her stomach every night. His voice soothes the life her womb is nurturing. It soothes her. She falls asleep to soft timber of his voice and the feel of his hands on the growing bump.

She would have never thought it. Not the first time she saw him, not the first time they had talked: that he would fill her world so completely. That he would give her back love, joy, and life. No, she would have never thought it. Dreamed it. But he did. He does.

And every night as she falls asleep in his arms, he thinks the same of her.


	18. Noir: Light

Noir: Light

The light above the bar has been broken for years. Mr. B has always said it a loose wire that would, no matter how many time he would try and fix it, would always stay loose and caused the blue light to flicker.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

She still remembers that as a child she would sit and watch the light. She would count the seconds between each flicker and time her mother's rehearsals by it.

After she and Jack reopened the bar they had given everything an upgrade. The tables, the chairs, the stage, the walls. Everything. But the light would still flicker. Jack said it was just one of those thing. A quirk forever part of the bar.

She doesn't mind it, because she loves the quick flicker of the neon blue light. She likes how it completely changes the name of the bar, which she and Jack never changed.

Once as they stood under the flickering blue sign, not long after their first kiss and night together, and he asked about the light. She told him the story and told him she liked how it changed the name. He had given her an amused look, but looked at the light regardless. She had watched as he stared pensively at it for a moment and then turned to her with a smile. He had secured his arm around her waist, she had kissed his cheek and they had kept walking.

As they walked away she had turned her head and counted to five. The light flickered turning off, the apostrophe and second 'S' disappearing, making the two separate words look like one. She smiled. She counted her life in time with that light, and while she didn't know it the early morning fog did the same thing to them.

Two separate figures, two separate souls, moving so close together they looked like one.

Behind them the light had flickered again. The Star's Gate.

On.


	19. Noir: Fathers

Noir: Fathers

The day her father shows up at the bar she's has her feet up on a chair. Pregnancy, for all its joys wreaks havoc on her back. She's discussing baby names with Samantha, and they can still hear Jack insisting that "Jack" is the best name they could come up with from the back room. It's just the four of them right now.

It is an ordinary day. Until her father walks in.

He walks in and Samantha stands to greet, her own back is to the door. It's early in the day, and not many people come by at this time. She turns to see who's the new customer is and freezes. She hasn't seen him since that night. She remembers glimpsing Adria at the wedding and that answers the question to how he knew. When Samantha notices her changed demeanor she ignores Jacek and asks what's wrong.

She can't answer. He has taken her voice again and the bar is silent like death. It feels like her death, but she manages to stand, hands protectively over her stomach, and tries to speak.

Nothing comes out. But eyes widen at her stomach. A part of her recognizes she hadn't even known during the wedding.

They walk in from the back at the same time. Jack is saying something about Jacqueline being a great name and he's asking if she wants something to eat. When they see who is in the bar they both pause. Jack freezes like she did, but in anger not dread. He, on the other hand, doesn't know who this is. He's never seen a picture of her father. Still, he picks up on her mood. Confused but aware he walks over and wraps his arm around her. Jack gets his voice back and yells at her father to get out. Her father yells back.

_Leave. My Daughter. LEAVE. She's my daughter. It didn't seem like you remembered that last time. Let me talk to her. She couldn't TALK because of you!_

Words, so many words. So many memories.

Samantha's eyes widen. His eyes narrow, and she feels his arms tighten around her, hands falls protectively on her stomach. He doesn't know the whole story, but now he knows enough.

_Sweetheart, please… it's been so long. I miss you. _ Her father, always the charmer.

As Jacek turns to her he moves in front of her, defensive.

_Move out the way. Like hell he will. I just want to talk to you, sweetie. Don't you move, kid. _

Jack and her father had never liked each other.

_Leave_. The word is cold and this time it comes from him. He knows her better than anyone and knows she wants her father out. The words that Jacek's return has stripped, he speaks for her.

_So I see you got a new protector. And one that knocked you up, at that. Can't say that I'm surprised. Like mother, like daughter. _Her father, always a bastard.

She feels the tears build up in her eyes and can hear more yelling. Too many words pulling her apart. She hates this. She hates how her father makes her feels. Weak. Child. Nothing.

She still remembers that day – that night – when she had lain broken by a man who was supposed to love her. When she had lain broken and called the only person she always knew to be there.

Jack had saved her that night, in more ways than one.

She still remembers the after. When gone was the voice her mother had bestowed upon her. Gone was the light. Everything was darker, from her soul to her voice. She had been empty. That night Jacek had taken everything from her.

And while she had eventually regained her voice and began to speak, she had vowed to herself she would never sing. Singing only let her feel the emptiness more.

But.

She's not empty anymore.

Suddenly, there's a hot punch inside her body; surprised, she places a hand on her stomach, and feels another kick. And another. Her baby. Her miracle. She is not empty anymore, the life inside reminds her. She is full in every possible way and this baby is proof of that.

And Jacek will never hurt her child with his words and actions like he had hurt her. She'll never let her baby be hurt like she was.

_Stop it! _Now the words come from her. Moving in front of the father of her child, she stands. She hasn't spoken to Jacek since that night, but now the words pour out.

_LEAVE. Leave me alone_. _I hate you. I hate what you did to me. I hate every ounce of your being. Leave! I never want to see you again. I've been happy all these years, and all because you haven't been here. I don't need you. I never have. Leave me alone. I'm not your daughter anymore. You're not my family. You're not my… Please just leave. Just leave… Leave me alone. _

Her father moves to touch her, but she never lets him. The slap echoes throughout the bar, and she hears Samantha's gasp. Jack moves and grabs her father; there's a small struggle as he leads Jacek out the door. The bar was never for him anyway. But Jacek tries to come back in. This time Jack doesn't hold back the punch.

And it is done. It is over. She can see it in her father's eyes. He has lost, and will never come back. With that last second father and daughter look at each other and Jacek leaves. He will never come back. The bar's blue light flickers and then shines brightly as he leaves.

As the door finally swings shut, her body deflates. Tears begin to fall freely from her eyes and when she feels his arms wrap around her, she loses herself in his embrace. If anyone looked through the windows they would have seen a scene reminiscent of another long before.

His hands softly caress her back and belly. Comforting and caring. He will never willingly let anything hurt her, hurt them.

Already he's a better father than Jacek ever was.


	20. Noir: Vita

Noir: Vita 

It started seven hours ago. It hadn't been meant to start for another month, but like her, her baby girl is impatient for the world.

They rush her to the clinic. Janet comes to attend to her right away.

That had been seven hours ago.

It hadn't hurt then. Just an ache in her stomach and a waterfall between her legs.

Now the pain is everywhere. She feels it in her back, her arms, her legs, her eyes, her fingertips. Everywhere. He holds her hand and kisses it every time she squeezes it. She thinks she's hurting him, but he doesn't say a thing. He doesn't give her empty encouragement or pep talks. He is terrified and she is the same. They had lost before; they can't lose again, not now, not when they're so close.

She feels her baby girl kicking her way out of her womb. Her baby girl is tired of being caged in and wants out. She's ready for the world.

Janet tells her to push. She pushes. She feels as if her body is being ripped apart. Carolyn says something about feet first and Janet commands her to stop. She stops. Feet first. Not good. This is not good. Janet tells her to stop and relax. She just cries. She's so tired. He holds her hand and kisses her temple. "It's going to be okay", he says. She wants to believe him. Carolyn tells them that Janet is going to try and turn their daughter. She nods and cries. Janet is the best, and they trust her. But when she's told to push again, she can't. She's so tired. There's too much pain. He holds her hand and whispers nothing and everything in her ear. His voice blankets her. She can feel her breath and strength come back.

_Push_. Janet says.

She holds his hand and pushes. Pain. Pain. Pain. And life.

She has a baby girl.

Janet pulls her out and cuts the cord, before she places the little ball of gooey love in her arms. Small, tiny, precious life. A laugh escapes through her tears. He looks down at them and kisses her, but she cries out against his lips. Pain. Something's wrong.

Carolyn is yelling. _Hemorrhage_. She takes their baby away and he stumbles as Carolyn also tries to pull him away. There's too much blood, she hears. There's too much pain, she feels. Janet is calm and proficient, but worried. She works fast, Carolyn on her heels.

But her baby is okay. She smiles. She's tired. But her baby, their baby, is okay. Alive.

She feels as he cups her face. He's scared. Not again, she reads in his eyes. He can't lose someone he loves again. _Don't leave me alone_. His voice has never sounded so broken. But he wouldn't be. Their baby girl is fine.

She whispers weakly, "I love you, you know." And her eyes hurt too much to stay open.

"No! NO! Stay with me! Stay with me!" She feels his hands cupping her face, tilting her face towards his. His words, like the world, are as if they were underwater. He presses his lips firmly against her. But she's not Snow White; kisses won't bring her back no matter how much they want them too. "Stay with me… I love you… please, baby. Stay… Please stay… please stay." She feels his tears fall and mix with hers.

Janet is yelling. _Surgery_. Carson is coming down. Carolyn is still trying to pull him away. Their baby is crying.

With the last of her strength she opens her eyes again, cups his cheek, and whispers against his lips. "It's gonna be okay."

The world fades away to the sound of her baby girl, their baby girl, and the feel of his lips.

Life is but a dream.

--

So… how many of you want to kill me now:D


	21. Noir: Heaven

Noir: Heaven

_"Oh yeah, yeah…_

_You smile, you smile, oh and then the spell has past. _

_And here we are in heaven,_

_For you are mine,_

_At last."_

_ "At last", Ella Fitzgerald_

The bar is quiet, except for the sound of the record player and the baby. She is crying in her daddy's bouncing arms and nothing is able to clam her. Nobody minds, they are all too worried to mind, they all try various way to calm her. Funny faces and sounds, but nothing seems to work and he feels like a failure.

She should be here.

And as if she heard her baby's girl's cry, she is.

She walks in from the street, her arms full of bags. Jack and Cameron grab them from her in an instant, ever since the surgery they have gone Neanderthal on her, but today she doesn't care as she heads straight for her daughter.

Smiling, she grabs the crying ball of pink and smoothes a hand over the small forehead. Her tiny pearl. The baby pauses but then continues crying. They tell her nothing has worked. He looks at her with failure in his eyes. She leans over and kisses him softly. It wasn't his fault. Babies cry. Her own mother had told her she had been louder than a foghorn. Only one thing had calmed her. She has a feeling it is the same for this precious bundle of powder smelling love.

It is instinct. She begins to sing softly. A lullaby hidden in song. '

They all grow quite around her. Except for him, TC and Jack none have ever heard her sing before. And except for him none have heard this voice.

She sings and the bar has grown quite. The song on the player is ending, and her daughter is now silent. She looks up and meets his eyes. He cups her cheek with a gentle, loving smile; she sneaks a kiss to his wrist before he bends to kiss their daughter, who grows sleepy in her mother's arms. She ends the song.

_"At last…"_

Fin.

* * *

And that's it for Noir. Many thanks to all that have stuck with me through this series. Who would have thought that tiny, experimental vignette would turn into this! Again thanks to all, for the continuous support hugs 


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